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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25046245">Out of Order</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karnately/pseuds/Karnately'>Karnately</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Forgive Me, I have no Idea what I'm doing but I hope this will be a cute and enjoyable read anyway, I haven't decided, I've never actually read a batman comic, MariBat, Non-Consensual Touching, Not Canon Compliant, OOC?, Soulmate AU, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, also maybe, im trying really hard but honestly, maybe a, really non canon compliant, there's like one iffy moment with a creep but don't worry she gets saved, you should probably consider this an AU</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:15:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,849</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25046245</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karnately/pseuds/Karnately</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Claire Andrews hadn't always been able to see souls, after she witnessed the violent murder of her father Henry, and nearly died herself something snapped inside of her. when she woke up from a comma as a result of her injuries she noticed that she could see people's essence, and history, kind of- It was like she could see in colors and shapes how people developed into themselves and changed over time, essentially their soul-displayed for seemingly anyone to see. It isn't a myth that some people wear their hearts on their sleeves.<br/>Two things are throwing her off about the second son of Gotham's favorite ex-playboy, the fact that he's missing a big chunk of his soul, and the fact that it looks like someone handed a child a LEGO set without the instructions and told them to rebuild a spaceship, in other words- like someone had taken him apart and put him back together in the wrong order.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jason Todd/Original Female Character(s), Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne, probably/others</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>66</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Five blocks in heels</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Claire runs into a brick wall while late to a meeting her mother arranged, and he's cute too, until she sees what he's hiding on his back.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Claire had always been in tune with other people, when she was younger she could almost always guess how people around her were feeling. Her father, Henry, used to call her his “little mood ring”. It wasn’t until she and her father were attacked in their family home and she watched him die that she could see souls, or at least that’s how she would have described it to people if she were allowed to mention it at all. It was more like she could see a person’s history, their personality growing and changing from the moment they were born. Some people wore themselves on their sleeves or in their chest or head, and just like they say the eyes are the window to the soul, some people contained themselves in their eyes. Her mother, Lisa, had quickly become overprotective of Claire after Henry’s untimely and violent murder, which slowly morphed into complete, smothering control, and then disgust when she realized Claire had gained a gift from the accident.<br/>
</p><p>Claire and her mother had gained a decent amount of money from Henry’s death, and then in horrible timing a large sum from the heart failure and death of Claire’s wealthy maternal grandfather. Lisa deemed it necessary to move away from their hometown, claiming it held too much trauma for them to stay, and though Claire had only been eleven, she wholeheartedly agreed.<br/>
</p><p>They moved frequently and eventually, despite all of Claire’s insistence, they settled in Gotham, the city with the highest crime rate in the world. Her only guess as to why her mother would pick a city where they were likely to be met with more reminders of Henry’s death, was because Gotham was also home to Bruce Wayne. Mr. Wayne was renowned for being ridiculously wealthy, and also for throwing fundraising events and galas regularly. Ever since Claire had turned seventeen she’d suspected that her mother was looking for a more reliable income, and as old fashioned and idiotic as it sounded, the best and easiest way to do that would probably have been to marry her daughter off to a rich and stable man.<br/>
</p><p>Now as she was approaching her eighteenth birthday her mother’s increase of urgency to introduce and endear her daughter to corrupt rich men, who had no issues marrying a young woman half their age had cemented the idea that the second someone was willing to marry her, Lisa would sign her off to a life more stifling and suffocating than anything the girl had felt before.<br/>
</p><p>This was how Claire found herself five blocks from where she was supposed to be, twelve minutes late, and in heels, running down the streets of Gotham trying to make it to a lunch her mother had set up and then forgotten to tell her about until she had already been left behind by their driver. With her attention divided it’s no wonder she ran headfirst into a tall young man going in the opposite direction, and it was just her luck that he happened to be dense as a rock. The impact knocked the wind out of her, and she would have fallen butt first onto the grimy Gotham street if he hadn’t also been quick enough to catch her. Once she had righted herself and properly regained her balance he let go of her shoulders immediately, which she appreciated. She then stepped back and took a few seconds o look him over, the first thing she noticed was that he was more than half a foot taller than her, she looked for quite a ways before finding his face, the second thing she noticed were his eyes, they were blue, and she realized he had asked her a question when he cocked an eyebrow at her like he was waiting for an answer.<br/>
</p><p>“Sorry, um could you repeat that?” She shook her head a little to clear out the fog and embarrassment.<br/>
</p><p>He smiled, and she was at least grateful that he wasn’t annoyed with her, “I asked if you were alright, that was pretty fast for someone in heels” she blinked hard, startled that he even noticed something like that, they weren’t even very high, just an inch or two.<br/>
</p><p>“Right,” she smiled awkwardly “I’m fine…” she blinked again and then her eyes went wide and she remembered she was supposed to be somewhere “actually I’m very-very late” she could feel the panic setting in and she tried to dodge around him. She heard him laugh quietly and he stepped out of her way.<br/>
</p><p>“Sorry for running into you!” She said quickly before dashing down the street.<br/>
</p><p>He made a small amused hum in reply.<br/>
</p><p>“Sorry-“ she turned back to apologize again and her blood ran cold. His soul was on his back, and it would have been beautiful, a river of fire-electrified with blue, except it looked like someone had taken it apart and tried to put it back together in the wrong order. Some of it didn’t even look like it belonged to him at all, grey and gold and static. The part that frightened her the most, however, was the full half inch line of black that spanned all the way across his back.<br/>
She turned back around quickly and kept running trying to be more careful, she would think about it when she had the time.</p><p>-----</p><p>It wasn’t uncommon for people to have dark spots on their soul, people who had memory loss had parts of their soul grayed out, and she herself had a thin black stripe on her soul, but hers was from when she’d been in a medically induced coma after the incident, so the doctors could fix the damage and let her heal enough to not worry about her reopening anything. She’d been asleep for a month and even her stripe only went a third of the way across. It slowly dawned on her that for a full half an inch strip of nothing he had to have died, and been dead for years, and she was afraid to know how she had run into him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I come from Quotev, you know where babies publish quizzes and weirdly possessive fanfiction and for some reason independent 20 year old women publish their stunning original work. I was an editor and also wrote several mediocre fanfiction (under the name Karnately) several of which have been privated, I only regret the editing... dear god that person did not know what a paragraph break was, or even how to tag dialog properly. not your usual like orbs and ridiculously varied tags, everyone was always saying something, and you always knew who except there were no fucking paragraph breaks.<br/>but my point was that this is just the shitty fanfic I've been writing in my head to help me fall asleep to, and like I said in the tags I've never in my life read a single batman comic (though I'm trying to get hold of one If anyone has recommendations on where to start) so this is based on, 1) other fanfiction 2) tumblr text posts and 3) the Wiki<br/>don't expect anything but the visuals to be good i won't lie to you I really have no clue what I'm fucking doing</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Roped into watercolors</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Claire gets roped into making paintings for an upcoming Wayne Auction.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Claire arrived at the address her mother had left for her she was out of breath, and cold having left the house in such a rush that she had forgotten a jacket, regrettable during Gotham’s rainy season. As soon as she stepped into the restaurant–and although that wasn't quite the right word it was the one she settled on– it began to drizzle outside, if she were a person who believed in luck she would have counted her blessings. She took just a moment to catch her bearings in the classy environment, warm and bright compared to the dreary Gotham street she had just come in from.</p><p>“Can I help you?” the host at the door asked in his nicest customer service voice, like he expected her to be difficult.</p><p>Claire flashed him a tight smile, “I’m Claire Andrews, my mother should be here already, her name is Lisa Russell?” it was meant to come out as a statement but Claire felt her confidence slipping out from under her the longer she talked.</p><p>The man checked a notepad on the desk in front of him “Right this way ms. Andrews.” he didn’t drop the voice but he gave her a reassuring glance.</p><p>When Claire caught sight of her mother she was instantly relieved, her mother may not have been the best especially in the last few years but being with her mother was better than being on her own in Gotham. It was when she saw who her mother was sitting across from that she became confused. Sitting across the table from her mother, looking considerably more calm than the woman, was Bruce Wayne.</p><p>“Sorry I’m late,” Claire said curtsying, partially to be polite and partially to hide her confusion.</p><p>“And you must be Claire,” he said smiling at her “I went to school with Henry”</p><p>Claire turned to her mother, asking silently if it was ok to ask questions. Lisa never wanted to answer questions about Henry especially if they were about before Claire was born. Claire had always assumed it was just easier to talk about him if Lisa could focus on baby Claire instead of the fact that Henry could never be in their lives again.</p><p>Her face pinched and seemed to grow more tired, before she nodded, giving Claire permission to ask any questions she had, so long as they were directed at Sir Wayne and not herself.</p><p>“I don’t remember him well, would you tell me about what he was like when you knew him Sir Wayne?” Claire asked sitting down.</p><p>Bruce chuckled at the honorific “please just call me Bruce”</p><p>Claire nodded and he continued, regaling her with stories of the trouble her father got himself into as a boy, and how often someone would have to get him out of the hole he’d talked himself into. Claire decided right away that she liked him. He had a calming aura, like he knew just the right way to speak to help her avoid the scabs of grief on her heart, he was like cold rain and warm mist on an old cobblestone road. He had children, she knew, but having children didn’t make someone a dad, she’d met her mother’s father several times, he was cold and harsh, she had always felt on edge when they’d visited him, like he was judging everything she said and would punish her if she said something he didn’t like. Bruce Wayne was notably different, he reminded her very much of what she remembered of her own father.</p><p>They chatted for a few minutes before something caught Bruce’s attention, Claire turned to see what it was, and was instantly enamored by the woman being led to their table, she was like a ray of sunlight in a snowy field, glittery and bright, and she smiled when she saw them all looking at her, Claire smiled back on instinct despite how completely intimidated she was.<br/>“I would like to introduce you to my fiance Selina Kyle,” Bruce said standing up to kiss her cheek “Selina this is Lisa Russell and her daughter Claire,” he gestured to them in turn.</p><p>Claire tried to curtsy in her seat, and ended up feeling like a chicken doing a dance, “It’s a pleasure to meet you Lady Selina.”</p><p>Selina also laughed, “How formal”</p><p>The four of them talked for a while and ordered their food, when somehow they got on the topic of Claire’s passion for watercolor. Her mother instantly began gushing about her talent, it was one of the few things her mother was actually proud of. Claire had started painting how she interpreted people after her father’s death, and after six years she was getting pretty good at it. Then before she could protest her mother was showing them her art, and Bruce was asking if she would donate some pieces to the Wayne charity auction next month, and she was saying yes.</p><p>Claire could feel panic rising as they departed, and she started spiraling as soon as they got in the car, there was no way any of her art was good enough that people would want it, she was positive that no one would pay money for one of her watercolors. She decided she would just have to make some of the best art she had ever made, and luckily she had three new subjects to paint, Selina, Bruce, and the man she’d ran into. It wasn’t like she’d actually be painting them, just their essence.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A lot of the cartoons are on HBO so i've been watching some of those, Honestly I'm going to try to paint a representation of everything im describing claire painting but like im not the best at digital art, im still getting the hang of how lighting works and all that, if anyone wants to take a crack at it, please use the hashtag #GothamsLadyClaire <br/>no one has to though like i said I'll do my best to get across what I mean.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A Bonus Jason Chapter as an Apology</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The brick wall is met with a tiny foe, and instantly is protective of her</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had been a year since the rest of his family had let him move back home, and it was still strange. The Manor had been his home for a while when he was a boy, and after the accident and the years of all consuming rage, thanks to that fucking nightmare pool, he finally was starting to feel like himself again. His younger brothers were still on edge around him, especially Tim, Damian reminded Jason of himself though and that was where the real conflict was. The anger still lived in him, he could feel it every day, and with the anger came the trauma, he could remember his death well, it was the first year after coming back that was foggy, then bits and pieces up to his release into the wild. </p>
<p>	Jason wanted to get closer to Tim, partially because he felt guilty, and partially because Tim was his brother, kind of. When Dick had told them he was coming into Gotham for a while, the house got brighter in a way, it always did when Dick was coming but this time Jason had an agenda. There was no way to have an outing with Tim and not have it be incredibly uncomfortable, unless Dick came along too. Then he could frame it as a brother’s outing, to hang out with them both.</p>
<p>	And so Jason found himself carpooling with Bruce, Alfred liked to drive them around, especially if it meant doing multiple errands at once, Bruce had a brunch, Jason had to be around the same area for his lunch with his brothers, and Alfred wanted to do something in that part of town too, wouldn’t say what, but Alfred was always mysterious about his free time. It was early for Jason so he decided to wander around for a while, he liked to people watch, it made him feel more secure to know what was happening around him.</p>
<p>	He heard the fast clicking of heels coming closer, from the sound he didn’t think they were tall, but he assumed whoever it was would go around him. He was imposing, wide, tall, hard to miss. So he paid the noise little mind, he was surprised when a small young woman ran directly into him, his reflexes acted before he even had time to think and he caught her, holding her shoulders gently. The minute she seemed steady he took his hands away and stepped back, the last thing he wanted was for her to panic and think he was going to hurt her. </p>
<p>	She was studying him, like she was looking for something, her nose flared and her lips set in a tight line, at a guess she was maybe 3 years younger than him, 18 or 19. </p>
<p>	“Are you ok? You were running pretty fast.”</p>
<p>She stared with the same expression on her face until she met his eyes, then her lips softened, then almost instantly her cheeks flushed and her eyes widened. </p>
<p>	“Sorry, um could you repeat that?” she shook her head and her face relaxed slightly</p>
<p>“I asked if you were alright, that was pretty fast for someone in heels” he smiled at her, trying to help her relax, he had seen the same body posture on some of the girls at his school growing up in crime alley, he didn’t know why it was on the well dressed young woman but he certainly didn’t like it.<br/>She blinked once, like she was reminding herself how to think “Right” the tight smile made its way back onto her face “I’m fine…” she paused and a look of supreme horror settled into her whole body “actually I’m very-very late.”</p>
<p>She dodged around him and he let her, laughing softly to try and ease her, and to disguise his growing disdain for whoever was waiting for her.</p>
<p>As she passed him she quickly blurted “sorry for running into you”</p>
<p>He hummed a reply, not trusting his voice to stay calm.</p>
<p>He heard her take off down the street even faster than before and he thought she might have called after him, but if she had, the wind had torn it from his ears. He figured he should bring up the encounter with his brothers, if someone was hurting that girl, he knew Tim would be able to find them.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>yo so for aging<br/>Clair is almost 18<br/>Tim is 17 full on<br/>Damian is 14 because I said so <br/>Jason is 22/23- he doesn't Realize Claire isn't actually an adult, I will not let them even have romantic feelings for each other until she's been 18 for a while, its one thing for two adults to have a 4/5 year age gap its another thing when one of them is still in high school, I don't think Jason is the kind of person who would want to take advantage of someone romantically so I'm not going to let him<br/>Dick is 29 also because I said so<br/>Bruce is 40-something<br/>and Alfred is older, probably in his 60s or something</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. "Punishment"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>TW/ abuse, Emotional abuse, Physical abuse</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The minute Claire got into the car with her mother she knew the older woman was upset with her, on a good day her mother might look at her disapprovingly and tell her to fix her hair or to pull up her socks, but Claire’s mother refused to even look at her.</p><p>“Take us home” Lisa’s voice was sharp and cold, and it did not escape the driver, who nodded and dared not say a word.</p><p>Clair knew that saying anything would be a mistake, but she wanted desperately to apologize, she should have known better than to ask any questions about her father. She wanted to cry and beg for her mother’s forgiveness, the topic was taboo in their home, it was foolish to assume that it wasn’t still just because it was Bruce Wayne she was asking. But against the voice in her head screaming for her to make amends, she stayed silent. </p><p>She wondered what her punishment would be when they got home, if she was lucky she would be sent to her room to paint until dinnertime, if she was unlucky… well she was afraid to risk manifesting anything undesirable so she turned her mind and eyes out the window.</p><p>At a stop light she noticed the man she had ran into before, waiting at a crosswalk with two other similar looking men. Even from inside the car she could feel the tension between the three of them, the man looked away from the other two and for a split second she was sure he had seen her but the windows were tinted so he couldn’t have. For just that moment though, she thought he was looking right into her eyes, then the light was green.</p><p>Upon their arrival Claire stood in the foyer as straight as she could waiting for her mother’s punishment.</p><p>“Do you know what you did wrong?” her mother stepped in front of her, in heels they were the same height but Claire could not bear to look her in the eyes.</p><p>“Yes ma’am.” In public it was mother but behind closed doors it was always Ma’am.</p><p>“Say it,” her mother almost never shouted she would have sounded sweet if she had smiled, but instead her eyes bore into Claire like a wolf ready to tear her limb from limb.</p><p>“I asked about father,” Claire tried her best to keep the tremble out of her voice, years of this and she never got used to it. </p><p>Claire heard the slap before she felt it, but she kept her body steady and her posture proper, she could feel tears burning behind her eyes but she willed them to not fall. “I’m sorry,” her voice was a whisper, even as she said it she knew she should not have.</p><p>Her Mother’s voice was steel. “I would like you to go to your studio and paint, I’ll send someone to bring you your meal.” </p><p>Claire blinked once and then her body was moving, she wondered if perhaps she should reconsider her opinion on luck, not only was her “punishment” something she wanted to do, but she would be allowed to take her dinner in her private space, alone, away from the ice of the dinner table. Maybe, just this once, it would be ok to count this small blessing.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I keep forgetting about this story lol. I also really want to write a BNHA fanfic and I have like three bouncing around in my head. let me know if yall are at all interested and I'll consider doing that, I promise it wouldn't tale my attention any more from this story than it already is, I know not a lot happened in this chapter and its kinda short but the next one is longer I swear. I'm still doing some world building.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Calm and The Storm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>TW: Blood, Gunshots, PTSD, Panic Attack</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Claire had her Canvases spread out on the table in front of her, bouncing between different pieces as they dried. This was her favorite part about watercolors, how she never had to stop painting. Her mother was only proud of one thing, Claire’s watercolors, and on a good day her singing; her talent was the only thing about Claire her mother could stand. Claire had wanted to present the idea that she had been working on, that if her watercolors sold well maybe they could make a living off of them, a stable living, no need for Claire to get married as soon as possible, but with the foul mood Lisa was in, and Claire being banished to her studio the opportunity had not presented itself to her.</p><p>She rotated to the piece based on the man she had run into, a boat drifting across a river of blue fire, and once again found her mind drifting back to the memory of his startling blue eyes, trying her best to match the river to his eyes with watercolor she resolved to come back with Gouache later. She had elected to not include the alarming black stripe across the man’s back, and was making her best effort to not feel guilty about it. It was a charity piece and no doubt people would ask about the streak if she had included it, and she had no idea how she would explain, so she decided to not add it at all, but the small voice in the back of her head felt like she was disrespecting him somehow. Of the seven she was working on at once she liked the one she made after Bruce Wayne most of all, a misty street of uneven cobble, rain pooling in the cracks. She had always felt calm during the rain, or rather, since her father had told her that rain was a gift from giants in the sky, and thunder was their laughter. She smiled at the memory before a knock at the door pulled her out of her mind.</p><p>The staff her mother kept on pay was small, a maid, the driver, and a cook, bones for a house this size really. Claire was pleased regardless to find Maeve on the other side of the door, the maid was in her early twenties only a few years older than Claire, and although the staff was expressly told to interact with her as little as possible Maeve was always nice to her. Claire had always had a suspicion that unlike the Cook who believed that strict, physical discipline was an important part of child rearing, if Maeve were able to find another well paying job she would have loved nothing more than to take Claire far away from this cold empty house. </p><p>“Your Mother asked me to inform you that two of Bruce Wayne’s sons have offered to take you to see the Wayne Botanical Garden tomorrow, and that she’s agreed on your behalf.” Maeve smiled warmly as she handed over the tray of food, and Claire was thankful to notice the meal was without meat. Maeve had always been the most considerate of Claire’s preference for vegetarianism, everyone else in the house liked to pretend it didn’t exist and she was always having to pick around her dinner. It was on nights like those that Maeve would slip her something extra as she was being sent to bed.</p><p>“I understand, what time should I get ready?” Claire smiled back, although she couldn’t be sure it was genuine.</p><p>“Your mother wants you ready by 7am, I think she has some things to discuss with you” her face melted into pity and Claire’s heart sank. This would be the kind of talk that was about things she should not say during her outing, ways she was to behave, how she should react to certain questions.</p><p>Claire nodded and retreated back to her studio, she would leave the tray outside the door when she was done. </p><p> </p><p>After quickly eating her meal and leaving her tray for Maeve she set back to work. She started by tidying some of the dried pieces and lining a few others. Then she pulled a larger canvas and got to work painting herself. Claire had always found her own soul hard to see, it was shaped like a cape in a sense. It was a large tree covered in butterflies hanging upside down over a stream, the roots of the tree were draped over her shoulders and extended only slightly onto her upper chest while the rest of it took up most of her back, there was a thin black line across part of the trunk on her upper back. To really get a good look at it when she was younger she had to use two mirrors, there had been less butterflies then; Now as she began painting the river she knew it by heart, at her last count there had been 4 butterflies, one for every major event in her life. The first one she knew was her fathers death when she was 8, it was big and brown right under her left shoulder blade, and she was sure that the second was for her grandfather, it was a smaller black butterfly right next to the first. Next the yellow one when her mother pulled her out of school and began her homeschooling, and a foggy navy blue butterfly had appeared on her center back at the crown of the tree, not long after her mother had informed her of their upcoming move to gotham.</p><p>When it was dark outside the window Claire had finished 3 canvases and had 5 partially done, so she decided to go to bed. The first thing she did in her bedroom was to set her phone and anything else from her pockets on her nightstand, to keep them from accidentally going in the wash, she’d made that mistake before and had damaged a pair of pants. </p><p>When she came out of the bathroom, Claire knew she was too anxious to fall asleep. They’d been in Gotham for a while but she still wasn’t used to the sirens, they weren't constant and that was what was hard about it. It would be eerily quiet for hours and then all hell would break loose somewhere in the city, she knew that realistically things were probably going crazy for a while before someone notified the police, and that didn’t help to ease her mind. Claire wandered to her balcony window, and slowly unlocked it to step out only the small balcony, softly greeting the small potted hydrangea that was sitting on a low table next to the door. </p><p>“Hello, I know I didn’t come visit this morning, there was a bit of fuss and I didn’t have time” she kept her voice low and soothing as she tended to the plant, it was hard to grow most plants in Gotham, it was almost always hazy and dark and most plants needed near constant attention if you wanted to grow them outdoors. Hydrangeas didn’t need a lot of sun and Claire had always loved flowers, when she was small her father would take her on long hikes to collect flowers to press, and he always wanted her help in his little garden. She hummed softly as she inspected the plant. </p><p>There was a shout from the street below and Claire dropped to the floor instantly and shuffled over to the railing to look. She recognized two of the three figures as Gothams vigilante heroes Red Hood and Robin, Robin was crouched ready to fight, but Red Hood had his hands out palms facing the third figure, a man waving something around in the air. She couldn’t hear what they were saying but she thought Red Hood was trying to negotiate, his body posture seemed so non-threatening she didn’t know what else he could be trying to do. Taking a closer look at the man she realised he was shackled in the non literal sense, sickly green smoke was curled around his neck and wrists like shackles, he started moving more frantically and his voice edged louder. </p><p>“You don’t understand. He'll kill me! He’ll kill me!” the Man was shouting now and Claire realized he was holding a gun.</p><p>Her breath hitched and her heart felt like it would pound out of her chest, of course the man had a gun, he was facing off against two of Gothams heroes, he probably worked for one of the villains, why wouldn't he have a gun? This is Gotham city, almost every home keeps a gun for safety, there are guns everywhere. Claire blinked trying to regain control of her thoughts, (focus) she told herself (am I in any danger?) she took a deep breath and looked back down at the confrontation. Red Hood still had his front to her, and the man, his hands were still out in front of him, (he doesn’t think he’s in danger) the fact that the Hood seemed so confident eased her a little, but she saw Robin inching closer to the man, his stance screamed danger to her, the man saw it too.</p><p>He fired his gun. </p><p>Claire slapped a hand over her mouth and pushed herself away from the edge of the balcony her back hit the uneven stone wall and she felt a sharp pain in her back. Her other hand scrambled for her beads, the sting of beads she’d had in her pocket. Big chunky beads, the psychiatrist she’d seen after the accident had given them to her, 14 beads on a string that was slightly too long so she could fit her fingers in between two beads. Hit helped her to count loud sounds, to remind herself of when she was, she was… she was. Her head swam and she was back in the basement, there was a second gunshot and her father screamed, Claire bit down on her hand. She was in Gotham, there was a gunfight in the street. Her father’s eyes met her. (he isn’t here, he isn’t) Claire was crying, and she tasted blood. Her heart pounded in her ears, her father was lying on the balcony next to her, his blood running off the side. She tried to back away from him, her bare feet scraping against the concrete, the wall stabbed into her back. She lost track of the gunshots. She squeezed her eyes shut.</p><p>“Hey, it’s ok, the fight is over,” Red hood was sitting in front of her, he didn’t touch her and he kept his body as small as he could.</p><p>Claire let out a loud sob and dropped her right hand from her mouth, trying to muffle the noise with the other, her right hand was wet with spit and blood and her whole body shook. </p><p>“Are you ok?” She couldn’t see his face but his voice dripped with worry. </p><p>Claire took a few gasping breaths and slowly pulled her feet under her, she nodded as she readied herself to stand. Her legs were shaking badly and Red Hood offered her his arm, both of her hands were covered in snot and spit and blood but she took his arm and let him support most of her weight, she could feel bad about his jacket tomorrow but she just wanted to be inside. </p><p>“No one got hurt,” He talked quietly to her, his voice was deep and soothing , “I don’t know how much you saw but that man was taken into custody completely unharmed, he fired his gun at the ground as a warning.”</p><p>Claire nodded again, she had her breathing mostly under control but she didn’t want to risk speaking, something in the back of her mind told her she’d only recovered so quickly because he was there. It was more upsetting to realize she hadn’t had anyone to help her after a panic attack since she was 14.</p><p>“Do you want my help inside?” he said putting his other hand on her elbow to steady her.</p><p>She shook her head, but nodded to the door, he stared for a moment then opened the sliding door and guided her to it. She gripped the door handle in her good hand and spun her body around slowly, rotating her body to be inside of her room. She smiled at him weakly and he bowed slightly before turning to leave, she caught sight of his back, electric blue, and she froze. Red Hood, the man she’d ran into physically earlier that day, pulled himself up over the railing of her balcony and shot some sort of tool, he was pulled quickly to a roof on the opposite side of the street where Claire lost sight of him in the dark. She was left with two options, panic at the door about her life choices and her revelation, or hobble to the bathroom to clean herself up and crawl into bed and try to sleep. </p><p>She let out a big, shaking sigh, and closed the door.</p>
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          <p>I got VERY distracted by Christmas, Sorry!</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. It's not a limo</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>THIS took me so long to write im HAVING A TIME, anyway I HAD to SPLIT this chapter because it was getting too damn long and I just wanted it UP. not even close to being done with the second part so sorry about that. BUT have it, enjoy it??? maybe???????</p><p>I KEEP FORGETING THE TRIGGER WARNING HHHH</p><p>TW-- Blood, non-detailed panic attack, Lisa, implications of self harm</p>
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    <p>Claire’s phone buzzed by her head, and she pushed herself up on her bed. She raked her fingers through her hair and was reminded of last night by the sloppy bandage wrapped around her hand. </p><p>After He had left, she had made it to the bathroom by following the wall, shuffling slowly around the edge of her room. As soon as her feet were both on the cold tile she’d realized they were bleeding and sticky, torn up from the concrete on the balcony. She’d reached for the cupboard with one hand, the other, white knuckled, gripping the edge of the sink. As soon as she’d found the first aid kit her body had gone on auto pilot, falling into a shaky rhythm as she’d washed her hands and cleaned her injuries. It wasn’t until she’d started to clean the floor that she began to break down, she’d pulled in on herself, gasping for breath, the chill from the tile jittered up her back. Her finger had found the grout in the floor, tracing it and rocking back and forth. (breathe) she’d told herself (I’m home, I’m safe) she’d willed the grey box out of her head, she was alone. </p><p>Claire groaned and slid herself to the edge of her bed making her way to the closet then to the bathroom. She inspected her injuries and decided the bandage on her hand was overkill, she replaced it with two Band-Aids and called it good, her feet were another story. The bottoms of both feet were irritated and covered in little scabs, and the inside of her left foot had a gravely, splotchy gash. She cleaned them as best she could and rewrapped them, glad she could wear more comfortable shoes today. Her face in the mirror looked tired, so she did her best to hide it with makeup, it wouldn’t do to have the Wayne boys worried about her. She plaited her hair into two braids before finally getting dressed. Maeve had not come to get her so she busied herself by packing her things into her bag, sketchbook, beads, phone, colored pencils. </p><p>It might not have been expected of her but she made her bed regardless, she did it out of habit mostly. Her family had always been well off but her father had kept them grounded, he had always done his best to keep them from relying on other people to do things that could just as easily be done in the moment. She scanned the room for any more busy work to do while she waited, and she noticed the blood on the carpet. There was nothing she could do about it now, so she’d have to tell Maeve about the panic attack. Although, when she considered it, she would have had to tell Maeve anyway. There was no real point in lying about how she hurt her hand.</p><p>The Clock at her bedside read 7:01, so she pulled her bag over her shoulder and pulled some low black boots from the shoe rack by her bedroom door and opened the door before pulling them over her socks. Maeve was standing at the door with her hand raised to knock, she seemed startled by Claire’s sudden appearance.</p><p>“Shall we then?” Claire said, squaring her shoulders and walking past Maeve, pulling the door shut behind her.</p><p>“Did you check the news this morning Claire?” Maeve asked, attempting to keep pace. It was awkward for her because her legs were a lot longer than Claire’s, it meant she had to pause for half a second each step to not outpace Claire’s brisk but small strides. </p><p>“About the gunshot last night?”</p><p>“Well that too, it was one of the Joker’s men, the police took him in after some of the capes dealt with him, I meant about the Waynes.” Maeve was a gothamite, completely native, she spoke of the Joker in a whisper and was in the percentage of the population that liked to keep up with what the Waynes were doing, Claire didn’t really understand the appeal. She was curious of course, she would be seeing them all quite a bit in the upcoming month, but the obsession with their personal lives went completely over her head.</p><p>“Tell me,” she laughed softly.</p><p>“Apparently Bruce Wayne has a big announcement to make soon, he said he couldn’t talk much because whatever paperwork wasn’t through yet, or something like that. I think it’s going to be about his wedding! Or some extension of Wayne Enterprises.” </p><p>Claire just smiled at her, it was always nice in the early mornings, to talk to Maeve. She was a university student by day, and probably by night too, but on weekday evenings and early mornings she worked in Claire’s home. Mornings like these, where Claire could feel like she and Maeve were just two friends chatting, were her favorite. She didn’t have very many friends, just the ones her mother introduced her to, and most of them were nowhere near her own age, and honestly probably only talked to her at parties because it was expected of them. If her mother didn’t set meetings up for her, Claire would have no one to talk to during the day, trapped in a house far too big for just a mother and daughter.</p><p>“Maeve, Um… the floor in my room… I had a panic attack, I um… injured myself” Claire knew she should say something before Maeve left for the day, better at least to insure it was known about and could be taken care of later, but Maeve looked back at her wide eyed “On accident” she rushed “the gunshot was… upsetting to hear so close to the house” Maeve had never had to deal with Claire’s panic attacks, it wasn’t the first time she had injured herself in an attempt to stay grounded but Maeve had no way of knowing that.</p><p>“Alright” she still looked uneasy, but she quirked her lip at Claire in what was obviously intended to be a comforting smile “I can go put something on the carpet to make it easier to clean this evening, good luck” Maeve jerked her head in an awkward nod and turned to leave.</p><p>Claire arrived at Lisa’s study door and knocked.</p><p>“Come in.” her mother’s commanding but smooth voice called.</p><p>Claire took a deep breath and walked into the room closing the door behind her. She came to a stop, standing at the corner of her mothers big, imposing desk. </p><p>“Good morning ma’am” Claire cheered inwardly when her voice came out sounding confident.</p><p>“I want you to be on your best behavior today, you understand me? You are not to mention anyone's souls,” she spat the word at her, like it was filthy in her mouth “you are not to speak ill of me, and you are not to speak of your father. He’s dead, leave him to be.”</p><p>“Yes ma’am” Claire knew to speak clearly, but still she avoided looking her mother in the eyes.</p><p>Her mother stared at her a moment more, her silent warning pressing into Claire like a bladepoint, before nodding her head sharply and saying “good, you may leave, there’s food waiting for you on the table. Eat quickly and wait in the front hall for the Wayne boys.”</p><p>“Yes ma’am.”</p><p>She did as she was told, eating around the sausage and Bacon on her plate, and then sitting on the short bench in the foyer next to the front door. She sat quietly, letting thoughts drift in and out of her head. It made sense, when she thought about it, that Mr. Wayne would have her visit the flower garden. Much of the work her mother would have shown off was of flowers, Lisa liked them because they reminded her of Henry and not of Claire’s ability, at least that was Claire’s best guess. </p><p>If Claire was honest, she didn’t mind doing a collection of the flowers in the botanical garden, but she would have preferred to do a collection on the interesting personalities of Gotham. Everyone she saw was startlingly intense to look at, in the other places they’d lived she’d seen some patterns, auras, animals, flowers. Almost every person she saw in Gotham was completely unique, and interacted wildly different with the world than most people she’d seen before. If Claire was being even more honest, she would have preferred to people watch.</p><p>Maeve had left a few minutes earlier when the driver—who had never told her his name—walked past her and cleared his throat. </p><p>“Ms. Andrews, your ride is here” his voice was tired, and almost bored sounding.</p><p>As she stood, Claire offered him a small smile which he did not return, instead he moved over to the front door, gesturing for her to follow him. He swung open the large wooden door, which looked like it should’ve creaked or whooshed as it moved, but instead it was silent.</p><p>Outside there was a shiny blue car, in front of it were two related looking boys, though she knew none of the Wayne son’s were actually related by blood. One she realized, she had seen yesterday, with the man… or The Red Hood she supposed. He was about two inches taller than her, maybe less, if she had been wearing heels they would have been the same height, she guessed. He was pale, in a way that most of Gotham was but much more severe, instead of looking like he never got direct sunlight he looked like he never went outside. His hair was mostly pushed sideways out of his face, gelled slightly to keep it that way, she was almost certain that he had at least one pin hidden in it. His soul was one of the difficult ones to describe, like Maeve’s crackling fireplace, conversational din, and far away laughter, he was more a collection of ideas and sounds, than an actual physical object. He was best described by the clicking of a camera shutter and the blue haze of a computer screen filtered through the steam of a hot drink, the metallic twinkling of discarded energy drinks bumping into one another.</p><p>The other boy was intimidating, there was a crease on the bridge of his nose, though his face was relaxed into a sort of cool disinterest, like his face was accustomed to scowling. His hair was slicked back across his head, and he somehow made it look natural. He was maybe two and a half inches shorter than her, and curled around his waist like a belt was a thin, snakelike, coppery dragon, its tail wound up through his armpit and was draped across his shoulder, its head was tucked against the opposite hip. He may have been younger than her, but everything about his posture and confidence shouted (Superiority) to her.</p><p>“Hello” she greeted them, curtsying. They were standing slightly farther apart from one another than seemed comfortable, and Claire used that to judge where to stand, she felt far away. </p><p>“I’m Tim” the taller boy said, stepping diagonally towards her to shake her hand. (Coffee), she decided as he stepped forward, (he drinks coffee).</p><p>“Claire” she said, taking his hand.</p><p>“Oh, are you alright?” he asked, flipping her hand to look at the bandages.</p><p>She hummed an affirmative “I cut myself accidentally, nothing to worry about,” she smiled at him before letting go of his hand and turning to the other boy.</p><p>“I am Damian Wayne” he said it like she ought to have known already, and she wondered if he had been expressly told to not roll his eyes. He did not reach to shake her hand so she just gave him a small wave.</p><p>Tim opened the door and she saw the inside had two sets of seats facing each other like a limousine, the car was distinctly not a limo, so she assumed it must have been a custom choice. Damian was closest to the door so he slid in first, moving to sit so he would be across from her when she sat down, Tim gestured for her to sit next, and followed behind her closing the door after him.</p><p>“Seat belts please everyone” A kindly English voice called softly from the driver's seat. Claire turned to look for the strap and caught sight of an elderly, almost regal looking man. They met eyes and he smiled at her, “other shoulder miss” there was war hidden in his eyes, gunfire deep in his pupils, his irises however were filled with something softer. Something kind that Claire could not quite place, and so she let it be, turning and pulling the seat belt across her chest.</p><p>“That’s Alfred,” Tim nodded towards the driver </p><p>“Hello sir” Claire turned partway so he could hear her better</p><p>“Good morning Miss Andrews” He responded with the same level of formality and politeness that she was using without a hint of anything insincere. Just as she had instantly grown to like Bruce Wayne, she found herself aching to know his people better. His family had an aura of warmth and love, and her heart begged quietly to know them all.</p><p>They sat in silence for a few seconds, the tension in the car slowly melting away as the two boys across from her appraised her. Damian was the one to speak first.</p><p>“Father tells us you’re an artist, may we see?” Claire had thought he would be the demanding type, and maybe he was, maybe he just held the same internal reverence for art that she did, but he asked with such uncertainty that she wanted to assure him, wanted to press the confidence from a moment ago back into his body.</p><p>Instead of answering she pulled her bag onto her lap and pulled out her sketchbook, taking the bookmark and moving it to block the private pages. If her suspicion that Damian was an artist was correct he would not flip to them. She opened it to the first page and handed the book to him.</p><p>Tim leaned over so he could see the drawings. The first few were filled with flowers, it was her most recent sketchbook so they were mostly just the sturdy flowers that could grow in Gotham. The next page was a colored pencil representation of Maeve, a rocking chair seen through a fireplace, a shadowy cat curled in the corner of the seat. The two young men flipped through them slowly, Claire tried her best to remember what was on each page to know what they were seeing.</p><p>Damian stopped on a page and a small “oh” tumbled from Tim’s mouth.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>LMAO sorry for the cliffhanger it was the best place to split the chapter, im not even kidding I debated If I should split it after the reveal of what the drawing was or before and I decided it would make both chapters stronger to split it here. whoops.</p>
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